she killed him
by sinkingsidewalks
Summary: "It was him. His scent, his voice, his breath. If she believed in souls she would sell her own on the conviction that that thing had a piece of Leo's." Because killing your (even fake evil robot) boyfriend has got to leave some emotional scars.


Spoilers for episode 4x15: Self Control.

xx

She killed him.

Pointed a loaded weapon at him. Dropped a pile of metal on him. Stabbed him in the chest more times than she could count. Drained the life from his neck, watched it fade from his eyes.

She can still feel the ache in her shoulder, in the tissue between her scapula and her spine, the pull of her trapezius muscles, where the muscles began to protest after the third plunge and her strength began to wane. The scraping of her shoulder blade against the taunt pull of her skin, the repetitive flection of muscle that forced the blade through tissue, muscle fibers and bone.

She can still feel the resistance beneath her fingers, in the exhausted waver of the muscles in her forearm. A ghost of the action ripples through her limb, the brush of blood and cotton and _warmth_ against the side of her palm that met his chest with every stab. The blood is still on her hands.

It's seeped into the cracks in her skin, the lines of flesh that are not as soft as the rest of her – the nature of being a scientist, a doctor, she washes her hands too many times a day for even the best hand creams to keep up – and it feels a part of her now. No matter how hard she scrubs she knows it won't ever go away, will always be there, beneath the surface, evidence of her betrayal.

Except it wasn't betrayal. Because it wasn't him. It wasn't Fitz.

It was just a robot.

But.

His hand still burns against her cheek. _His_ hand. It held the same warmth, stretched across her cheekbone in the same manner, thumb just caressing the side of her nose, pinky at her ear. The same callouses, the ones that have formed from a lifetime of working with his hands, the ones that she watched form over their years, in school together, working together, pressed, harsh but comforting, into the gentle skin of her cheek.

She knows the intricacies of his hands better than her own. The way the creases fall, the stretch of skin against his knuckles, the whorls that print his fingertips, that mark him distinctly as himself. She's spent long hours watching how they move, with sureness and delicacy and accuracy that his broad tendons should be too thick, too clumsy to manage.

She knows how they can work across microscopic circuit boards, piecing together his genius. How they feel, running over her bare, sweat lined skin as his body presses into hers and his breath pulses against her cheek. Knows the callous on the inside of his thumb that always stutters over her breathless ribs as he breaks her apart, piece by piece.

It was him. His _scent_ , his _voice_ , his _breath_. If she believed in souls she would sell her own on the conviction that that _thing_ had a piece of Leo's.

And she killed him.

Her head falls back too harshly against the hollow metal shell of the aircraft. The sound resonates through her mind and through the rest of the empty hallway. She only made it out of the cockpit, after it was clear that they were properly in the air and the redshirt wasn't going to crash land them in a fiery haze. Detangled her hand from Daisy's, pointed one of the others towards taking care of her friend, and then she stumbled away from them all, content to let her grief overtake her.

The blood is still all over her. She doesn't know whose is who's at this point. Hers, Daisy's, _his._ She tries to substitute _its_ , in her mind but she can't. It was too real.

The eyes are going to haunt her for the rest of her life.

Her breath shuffles on a sob. She hasn't been able to breathe since she saw the sensor feed. The chill and subsequent numbness that spread through her over the revelation remain, a part of her doubts they'll ever leave.

Tears track the dirt down her face, dragging the blood and sweat along with them to where they pool at the collar of her shirt. Her hands shake too hard for her to brush them away. Her whole body trembles.

"Hey."

Jemma doesn't notice the intrusion, the dragging footsteps, the dull clang of Daisy's body against the wall of the plane, until the other girl speaks. Even then she can only look over mutely, gaze through bleary eyes as Daisy makes her was down the hall. The other girl's smiling though – no doubt with relief, they made it out alive after all - and all Jemma can manage is a half sob, half self-deprecating laugh.

It wasn't him.

Daisy falls more than she sits really, her warm body pressed up against Jemma's as the last remaining strength in her leg gives out. The warmth, the presence, it doesn't help, only serves as a reminder to who isn't here, who they didn't save.

She drags in a ragged breath, "I killed him." She's not entirely sure that Daisy can understand her, but she slings her uninjured arm around Jemma's shoulders pulling her in tighter.

"No you didn't."

"Daisy I-" her own sob cuts her off.

"You didn't kill him because he's not dead, okay? Fitz is out there, somewhere, and he needs our help."

Jemma's head falls down onto Daisy's shoulder, she closes her eyes against the tears, trying to put together the pieces to make them stop. Fitz is alive. Fitz is _alive_. More tears leak out. She turns her face into Daisy's shoulder, where the girl's shirt has slipped down and she can press her eyes into the skin. It's warm and soft and smells more than a little like sweat but it's the closest she can get to home without him here. Eventually, she gets her breath back.

"He said that he wanted to marry me."

She feels Daisy's body sigh, compress, beneath her, the devastation leaking out to join her own.

"I mean, I knew." She continues, knowing that there's nothing for Daisy to say. "Of course I knew." The smile that crawls across her lips can't be helped, even in the worst situation thinking of it, spending the rest of her life with him, officially, stirs the butterflies in her stomach.

"But he'd never said it," Daisy sighs.

"No, he'd never said it." Another tear trails down her cheek, slower, quieter. Her body has reached the end of its agony even though her mind is still caught in it, trapped under its own weight, spiralling into the darkness.

xx

I loved this episode more than air. I will no doubt be writing many more bits and pieces around the events during the hiatus. Please come flail with me about it sinkingsidewalks on tumblr and let me know what you think of this piece in the comments!


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